The most valuable lessons are often the most emotionally painful to learn. And as teachers, we know the most painful of emotions stem not from our own fears or inconsistencies, but from concern for our students. The student who “acts out” – no doubt that we will know and teach many such students, but all are not close to being the same.

There are those students who lack self-regulation, those with ADHD, an enormous amount of energy bursting to be focused, and those who are a less mature and lacking social skills. Then, there are those students who truly challenge all of our actions, at every turn - who defy, who re-draw the boundary line, who reach out to others one minute and put up walls the next.

A veteran teacher might realize these are the students who are truly hurting, but as a new teacher, the picture is not always clear the first time around. You have a gut feeling, but you fail to connect all the dots. I think now of a student who has posed this particular challenge for the latter half of this school year. Every day poses a new balancing act, where I walk the line between firm discipline and warm positive reinforcement, and this student decides to give or take, to shake the line or to walk the line with me.

I very recently found out much more about this child’s situation than I was aware of before. I was stunned at the information revealed to me. I had bits and pieces, of course, from being in contact with this student’s family, due to other related (but veiled) incidents and behaviors in class. Now, I feel as if I’ve been groping in the dark, trying to find the light switch by brushing every inch of the wall, with a vague idea of for what I'm looking and where. I have a changed perspective and different understanding as to why I have been witnessing an escalation in certain behaviors.

​This student, and others in such "unfair" environments, are the ones who are the center of this post – the ones who need a rock on which to push against, swim around, and rest upon when too exhausted to fight back. The ones who have had experiences outside of school that have hurt and warped their perspectives on life and reality, experiences of which some of us wouldn’t dream.

Guilt is not too far behind me; I try not to succumb. For me, the lesson is in this moment. Children who act out in such ways don’t do so to intentionally harm or cause pain; they do so because they are feeling something with which they cannot cope alone, and they are seeking attention and care by exaggerating and acting out the dark things to which they should have never encountered. It can be a scary world. I know, now, some of this far-reaching truth.

I also realize, quite poignantly, the need to find and keep faith in the potential of human resilience and overcoming. I also have a heightened awareness of the importance of keeping close contact, as much as possible, with families, especially if there’s any hint of a questionable situation(s) occurring in the home or elsewhere. Forming these close relationships with families, and the child, is not a guarantee to getting through or helping any particular student – but no change can ever be made without this connection and awareness.

I vow to keep my eyes, ears, and heart open to this particular child’s needs in the coming months. May we, as teachers, put ourselves on the front line, selflessly, to support in any way we can those students in need – at times, the ones who are the first to hit on our last nerve. May we reframe their actions as a cry for help, rather than just another behavior issue.

Standing up for one's self can be hard enough when you lean towards introversion and are not a fan of confrontation. But learning to do so as a professional is an important and valuable lesson as a first-year teacher.

I am still mastering the art of this act of self-empowerment. In my building, I would gladly argue that each teacher is committed and holds him/herself to high standards; what those standards are and how they're set may differ of course, but the intention is the common bond.

I count myself as lucky that I ended up in a position where I have a variety of wonderful mentors all around. What I've also observed is that some teachers are very attached to a sense of control. Unfortunately, this control identity has sometimes spread in an attempt to control other teachers' teaching, and sometimes authority.

Before you jump to the conclusion that I am speaking out against any teacher or partaking in some easy-to-blog gossip, please - do not misunderstand (my diplomacy sets in already)! My intention is to do neither, but to simply draw attention to this all-too-easy human trap - falling victim to this type of control, and exasperating the cycle. There have been three incidents this year with two separate teachers, in which my decisions as a professional have been publicly questioned or demeaned. When I say publicly, I mean out loud in front of students and possibly other teachers. When I say demeaned, I refer to the more negative (as opposed to more positive) approach in tone and language.

The first time was quite upsetting, and another teacher who overheard was quite outraged at what had taken place. While she might have taken a more direct approach to confront this teacher, she was also understanding of the fact that I'm a first-year and "may not want to rock the boat too much." I did bring the situation up in conversation with my mentor, who is similar to me in nature, and who gave me a very diplomatic approach to addressing this teacher, should such a scenario occur again.

The following two times were with the same and a different teacher. Each time, attention was drawn to a choice I had made as a professional (and which, in no way went against school rules or was at risk of harming a student or other individual). To their credit, within 10 minutes, each teacher then addressed me privately, somewhat apologetic and looking for more information (or to assuage some guilt for unnecessary confrontation - at least, that's my intuitive notion). Each time, I clearly explained why I had done what I had done, and on at least one occasion told the teacher that "it was okay" that she had called me out. In other words, I forgave this teacher for her seeming indiscretion. Forgiveness is not the problem. Surely, holding a grudge would be far more damaging and a waste of energy.

The point I'm trying to make is that in each incident, I failed as a professional (more than once) to stand up for myself. While I might have explained my reasons, I missed an opportunity to assert my opinion in the manner in which each situation was handled. I could/should have communicated that I appreciated his/her concern, but that I would prefer the teacher to seek me out at another time to more privately convey his/her concern about a particular incident.

As another teacher noted when she first heard, and then witnessed such a scenario, the approach these teachers took not only "undermines your authority as a teacher in front of your students", but such an attempt is a jab (however unintended) at your status as a mature professional. I agree, wholeheartedly; taking such a perspective is based on principle.

When I later confessed my reasons for not doing so to someone very close to me, his response was that being assertive is "liberating". I like this idea quite a bit. Even after explaining myself, I still carried a bit of weight in my heart, feeling the aftermath of having been called out, put in the spotlight for "doing something I shouldn't have done."

Such incidents have actually helped me in a way, serving as a reminder to be highly conscious of never treating a student in such a manner, to whenever possible address a disagreement or concern in private - to maintain that individual's dignity and to nurture a relationship of respect.

More importantly, I've realized the need to stand up for myself, as a professional and as a human being. While my years of experience may not match those of surrounding teachers, my passion and commitment is certainly on an even playing ground. Overcoming fear of confrontation. Liberation through diplomatic directness. Standing up for beliefs.

​May I, and all new teachers, take these lessons to heart today, tomorrow, and the next, and set an invaluable example for our peers, and perhaps more importantly - our students.

As with any career in which you work directly with people, emotions have the potential to run high as an educator - for better or worse. As a first-year teacher, this risk takes on its own dimensions - not only do you experience the emotions associated with the daily pressures that all teachers experience in a high-stakes environment, but you also feel a heightened sense of urgency in trying to learn the curriculum and assemble lessons and materials for the first time. Then there's addressing and handling the social issues that begin to crop up amongst students, not to mention the occasional parental conflict. Clouds seem to roll in and block some of the light that shone so brightly when you first received the news that you would be walking into a classroom of your very own.

Of course, the small feelings of victory (not any less significant) and encouragement lie in wait too, and should not be forgotten. In fact, it is these emotional experiences that should be held out to flap around and catch one's eye in the winds of constant change and uncertainty.

In the grander cultural picture, I do think that developing a cautious awareness of potentially negative emotions, which can come from various angles, is essential. Some anxiety and pressure is a good thing - it is an external motivator that can trigger internally-driven accomplishments and innovation. That being said, the tipping point between a "healthy" amount of anxiety and pressure, and otherwise, will be felt. I believe what's most important in these potential situations of emotional teetering is how one responds.

I tend to be a cautious, but faithful, optimist. There are times, however, when I'm aware of the potential to be drawn into the social phenomena of 'drama' - this exists in any field, but education seems particularly prone to swinging trends and upheavals. Seeing as human beings are still very much in the business of being the primary educators, it seems an unfortunate norm to walk into a faculty meeting and feel a sense of tension and anxiety over the latest policy changes and administration initiatives. As new teachers on the scene, we have the advantage of not having the same biases that many of the staff who have been there for years may be harboring. We may be able to see the possibilities and potential, maybe even out-of-the-box solutions, that lie outside of the exchanged gossip and push-back.

Certainly, I am not lambasting experienced educators. They are the pinnacle of wisdom and insight, bringing their experiences - failures and achievements - and deepening our understanding of best practices. I come from a perspective of being brand new to the scene, having a blank slate, and not wanting to immediately cover it up with cynicism and criticism. In today's high-stakes environment, this is a potential danger. I think any educator would admit to this risk. One must have an authentic passion, at the end of the day, for being a successful participant in the making of young minds. At the very least, this belief will be tried and tested true, or otherwise.

More to the point, cultivating awareness and taking a step back from the self-involved and emotional scene is, I believe, essential for right-side up growth. Learning how to take an 'unaffected' observer's stance is essential to taking in as many elements and perspectives as possible, and will contribute to making better-informed decisions. As naive and vulnerable as I sometimes feel, this is a practice that I believe will help to keep my eyes on the horizon and my vision clearer and open to the possibilities inherent in the future of education.

When it came to the first evaluation by my principal, I made the rookie's mistake. I tried something "new" with my class of 17 third graders. About 10 minutes into my lesson, it was so far, so good. The kids were all eyes and ears during the read-aloud, The Sweetest Fig, by Chris Van Allsburg. They were definitely primed and ready to pour out their ideas about characters' perspective. My heart might have skipped a beat as I started to quickly model the next portion - using character 'props' in the form of dog ears and mustaches - to get into character and perspective with a partner.

About 15 minutes later, which should have been around the 7 mark, I was still trying to garner back attention. I had used my signature attention signal a good 3 times, and was pulling out others in the bag, in order to gather back lopsided ears and mustaches losing their stickiness. "Can we keep the mustaches?" was voiced more than once while many of the students continued to laugh and chat with their propped-out partners.

Experienced teachers will tell you that when it comes to the first evaluation, you should stick with the teaching approaches and routines that are already ingrained in your classroom. Wise advice. I'm pretty sure my team and at least one other teacher in my building mentioned something like this, "I just do what I usually do" - meticulously planned-out and written in formal lesson plan format perhaps being the only major upgrade. I'm also pretty sure I heard this advice and thought about it, but lack of experience or the anticipation of delivering a really engaging lesson and feeling the need to do something "different" seems to have overridden my system.

The idea was, and I think is still, a good one - put on the prop and 'become' the character, imagining the situation from his perspective, then switch props with your partner and transform into the other character's point of view. I had done turn and talks, so that concept wasn't entirely new; the loss of control - a normal occurrence in trying out new ideas, but not one that my principal didn't necessarily need to witness - happened because of the props, something I thought was a simple and engaging addition. Engaging, yes; simple, no.

What should I have done differently? Simply talking to my kids once beforehand about rules for the props wasn't nearly enough. The use of props, like any tool in the classroom, requires explicit modeling and guided practice before it can be released to students for use at an independent level. Working in pairs, and closely amongst other students, makes the need for a step-by-step procedure - passing out the props; using the props; and handing the props back over promptly - needs to be mastered, with behavioral expectations set far ahead of time.

I can hope that, despite the fact that my lesson dragged on as a result, that the remainder went much more smoothly. I'm pretty certain the individual assessment and quick group share went well - most were able to grasp the basic objective. But reaching that shore was choppy. Combing through my lesson to anticipate and plan well in advance for any new activities or routines, even those that seem to be a simple augmentation, would have been wise. Retrospect is everything!

I have been playing the teacher role for about three months now. In that time, I have experienced a whole spectrum of emotions, ranging between elatedness and uncertainty, and accompanied by an overwhelming sense of responsibility. It's important to note that these have been very self-centered feelings. One of the first challenges in teaching is to overcome the "it's all about me" condition, and to balance between turning your attention inward and back outward towards your students - with your students is where your attention belongs a majority of the time.

When we turn our attention outwards, which happens naturally when we're in the act of teaching, I find that I turn my fears about my inadequacies inside out...most of the time. They diminish and become recycled energy, however brief that period of time may last once students exit the classroom. Having the classroom empty, and thoughts to one's self, is when we risk mulling about everything that went wrong during the day and potentially miss considering those things that went right. I recently came across two terms which I find to be very relevant to this topic, goal-directed and stimulus-driven attention, the latter being where our fearful thoughts enter stage right. Interestingly, the nervous thoughts often originate from outside incidents and find their way inside, becoming larger than life, whereas the drive to pay more attention to what's really occurring outside must start from within in goal-oriented fashion.

About a week ago, my principal happened to come in during my math centers. It was a Friday, and I was conquering the mindset of wanting to escape and having time to absorb the happenings of the week. As I sat working with a small group at my table, I could already sense the purpose of the pop-in. "Good morning", I uttered. "Good Morning; boys and girls, I was coming down the hallway and I thought that third-grade might be having indoor recess. Let's please remember to use our indoor voices when we're in class". At that moment, my reflexive reply was, "Thank you for letting us know." As red-faced as I felt, I also meant what I said. I needed to be reminded that my attention needed to continue to be directed towards this one classroom management aspect, which I'm still working on with my class - noise level during independent and group work. I have a lively bunch with much to say - a beautiful thing, if you have an effective checks and balance system in place. I vented that day to one of my fellow, veteran teachers. When our paths crossed again about a week later, she mentioned that she had a tool for me to try - a "yacker tracker", apparently rather common but not one with which I'm familiar. Gratitude again for the selfless attention paid by my fellow teachers toward my own needs.

Reflection and problem-solving is one thing. Fretting and mulling over every single hiccup and imperfection in the day, whether it be related to methodology or events outside a teacher's control, is another. When the room empties out at the end of the day and the energy is still a swirling entity, I find that using the 20 minutes afterwards to turn on soothing (or whatever the moment inspires) tunes, tidy up the room, organize, and silently let thoughts enter and leave my brain is a healthy balancing act. I still strive, a little bit every day, towards more proactive reflecting, whether in my own company or with fellow teachers or other supportive individuals, eventually turning that attention away from my own feelings and towards making a difference.

An even more refined, outward attention in which a teacher takes direction from students can make a difference. Instead of thinking only about how I should do something in a particular situation, or focusing on the thought that I have no idea what to do, I aspire to do more tuning into and responding to students' feelings and ideas. Is there a particular student who's really struggling and looking for help in a particular area, whether through verbal or nonverbal cues? This should be a primary focus of attention, a call to tune into my professional knowledge bank and flex my search muscles in looking for resources. After contacting a parent, I recently had a student write me an apology note for losing his spelling notebook and not completing his assignments. Though this student does need to work on organization, he also in slightly large and sprawling handwriting mentioned that he thought it would be a good idea to post the weekly spelling assignment list on the class website. I hadn't thought of doing this, though it makes perfect sense and would clearly help students who don't always remember to bring everything home.

I have another student who has written me a messages from time to time on her papers or whiteboard, "I don't understand" or "I need help". Sometimes her messages or ones of self-deprecation, which I have already expressed does not have a place in our classroom; but that statement in itself is not a solution. There is clearly more going on, and this particular student needs a different kind of attention and scaffolding than I have been providing. Continuing to improve in paying attention to and being honest with my own approaches, and with my students' needs, is the most important element in the entire education equation. As much as teachers are in school to learn and grow, we are primarily there to serve our students. That is the overarching point and purpose, the potential rainbow at the end of every storm. Turning our attention out and towards specific solutions to be tried and tried again is where we must end at the close of each day, declaring "What will I do tomorrow to make this classroom a better place to learn?"

I have been a bona fide third grade teacher for 30 days exactly. I shiver a bit when I use the word 'bona fide', and not because it sounds slightly strange, or because we're heading into darker days under overcast skies and I have the chills. It's a fact that my immune system is also a novice, and I am typing from bed in the company of tissues and a vaporizer. I hesitate, because I do not feel that I am the real teacher that I should or want to be. The teacher who can articulate exactly why she does what she does, and who makes the craft look so effortless.

This feeling is invoked by more than walking around the halls and peering day after day into other classrooms that (granted, are much more established) seem more organized, creative, and efficient. It's more than meeting with my grade team and nodding in awe in response to their well-deep knowledge of content, their array of graphic organizers and other lesson tools that seem to flow like a river, and their second-hand nature knack at keeping track of and assessing student progress.

They have been where I am, a first-year teacher living on a prayer and a coveted dollar. But they have already walked through and been "baptized by fire". A passionate fire to be sure, for I think it highly unlikely that any human being could last 10+ years in the teaching profession without an authentic desire to teach and learn. Eventually, they found their own path, a way out of the sprawling and sometimes confusing woods-like world of the first year. Not without a lot of hard work and faith in themselves and others, to be sure - even if the latter was sometimes veiled by doubt and uncertainty.

I am in the heat of the thicket. Getting up every day before dawn to review my lesson plans, grade student work, and think ahead to the day's interactions. Soaking up as many ideas as I can from fellow teachers without coming off as a leech. Walking slowly with hands out through the benchmark assessment process; slowly chewing my way through how to approach progress monitoring and put together literacy and math groups; trying not to stumble over my recognition of missed assessment or classroom management opportunities.

Learning by doing - not always pretty, quite messy. I'll leave a lot behind from my first year. But I'll take some invaluable things to, which wouldn't be possible without holding the hands of others and walking the walk, right alongside my students. Their enthusiasm for life and learning is my steadfast source of inspiration. If I have learned anything yet, it's to forget everything I think I don't know; to keep on being inquisitive, whatever the cost; and to keep on giving all I can give of myself in the span of one day's passion-work.